


1-800-PSYCHIC

by GroovynSpoiled (UltimateWriterCharlie)



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, Brian is a drunk moron in this, Comedy, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, I came up with the idea a while ago, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Roger Taylor, Romantic Comedy, Telepathy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateWriterCharlie/pseuds/GroovynSpoiled
Summary: Roger Taylor is a late-night psychic and Brian May is drunk and thinks Roger is hot.
Relationships: Brian May/Roger Taylor
Comments: 16
Kudos: 54





	1. 1-800-PSYCHIC-HOTLINE

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to write so i did this :) hope yall enjoy

Brian didn't believe in psychics when he was sober, but when he had a few glasses of vodka soda in him he could really believe in anything. 

Drinking only helped sleep come easier on some restless nights, and tonight was not one of them. Ten o'clock past, then eleven o'clock, and then before he knew it, it was two in the morning and he was beyond drunk. That was sort of an accident, he was mindlessly drinking right out of the bottle to cure his boredom while he channel surfed.

Usually on at this time of night was a show he thought was stupid when he was sober, but very spooky drunk. It was on, and it was a live broadcast, so he figured he might as well tune in for a while and it may put him to sleep, or at least give him something to wank to given the fact that the psychic was astonishingly good-looking.

Maybe even supernaturally good-looking?

The medium was ranting on about something from a caller who seemed shocked and amazed at his powers of psychic ability. A phone number was present on the bottom of the screen, and Brian just so happened to have a lot of liquid courage in him and a phone next to him.

"We have another caller," The psychic announced, smiling with pride as he picked up the phone and set it to be heard for the cameras. "Hello, friend. What brings you here?"

Brian froze with a lack of words to say. He'd never called in before, what was he supposed to do now? "I think yer' so fucking hot." Oh, he didn't mean to say that out loud.

The psychic blinked at the cameras and couldn't help a laugh. "Uh, thank you?"

Brian glared at his screen. "Roger, you are a psychic, yeah?"

"Yep."

"Okay, guess what I'm doing right now."

"Well," Roger huffed a laugh. "You're drunk, and you're probably wasting time until you fall asleep. Isn't that right, Brian?"

Brian gasped. "Yeah, that's- that is exactly right. Wait, I didn't give you my name..."

The psychic put his hands up in a shrug. "I'm psychic."

"You're paycheck."

Roger leaned away from the camera and, although whispered, Brian could hear him tell someone off-camera; "He's plastered."

"You're so fucking hot, Roger the paycheck, I wanna take you on a date. When I'm sober. I don't- I'm not always drunk. I have insomnia, I don't always sleep either. Drinking- Dr-Drinking helps."

"You called to ask me on a date?" The psychic laughed and his cheeks went a bright red which made Brian's own light up with adoration. "This is definitely new."

Brian shuffled into a new position on his sofa and put the phone on his ear to rest there without his hand to hold it. "Oh my god let's eat dinner together, I've always thought of that when I watch your show. Do you eat, um, do you eat dinner?"

"I eat dinner yes, Brian."

Brian sighed dreamily while Roger looked over to the cameramen surrounding him with a grin. "Wow, we have so much in common. I'll give you my number and you can eat dinner with me."

"Well, I have your number."

"Oh, yeah, you're pay- psychic."

"Well, I also got your number when you called me."

The brunette gasped and nodded despite knowing that Roger wouldn't see. "God, you're so smart."

Roger, who was thoroughly entertained, leaned forward and bat his long eyelashes that made Brian's heart flutter. "So, you want me to do a reading on you, or did you just want to ask me out?"

Brian sputtered and made a bunch of weird sounds that Roger didn't really know what to say about. "You- Oh, you don't have to pretend you're psychic with me. It's okay."

"You're right," Roger said with a grin that showed he was up to something. "How about I call you tomorrow morning when you're good and hungover and we can discuss that date?"

Brian hummed in acceptance. 

"Oh, and before you go to bed, don't forget to put that bottle away. It's in your hand, and you really should make sure it doesn't break because you don't have a dustpan. Who accidentally melts a dustpan on the stove?"

Okay, that was spooky. He had just melted his dustpan the previous week and he had been sweeping trash directly into an open trash bag, and that wasn't exactly open knowledge.

"And don't go to sleep on the couch or you'll feel worse in the morning, mkay?" Roger winked.

Brian was dumb-struck. "O-Okay. Thanks..."

"Goodnight Brian May."

"How did you know-"

And with that, the phone hung up and Roger was burying his flushed face into his hands, still on the air, with a giggle that could compare to school girls. "I guess I'm going on a date with the drunk guy tomorrow."

Brian's head swam. "I guess I'm going on a date with you too, mister psychic," He said to himself, unsure whether or not it was a drunken dream or something he'd really just done.

Dating a psychic did sound kind of fun. Except for the fact that Roger could probably read his mind or something. Did Roger know he hadn't changed his underwear that day? What else did he know? Oh fuck, did he know his deepest secrets? Did Roger know he didn't like snakes?

Oh no.

The last thing he saw before he was off to sleep was Roger winking at the camera and waving, blowing a kiss after.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no clue how often ill update this because it really has no direction right now but yall enjoyed the first chapter so. happy quarentine! im posting a lot today!

Brian's head felt like someone had hammered it in with a million nails the night before. 

He couldn't open his eyes when he first became aware, unfortunately, that he was conscious. He was still sat on the sofa, strangely upright, and everything ached so badly he would rather die than get up and be productive. There was a puddle on the floor of spilt vodka and shattered glass from the bottle that he'd dropped onto the floor in his sleep. He probably should have put it back in its cupboard.

Looking down, the puddle was hardly a spot on the floor. Jesus, how much did he drink last night? His phone was in his pocket and his hand was firmly down the front of his pants, which was weird, but not too far from unusual given how hammered he was the night before.

His phone started vibrating in his pocket before exploding into the most obnoxious sound he'd ever heard. "Jesus fucking Christ," He shouted with a wince as the sound burrowed into his skull like a drill. "Who the fuck is it?"

The phone didn't want to say who was calling, even with caller ID. It just said ' _Unknown Number'_. 

Brian had no time to answer stupid phone calls, so he tossed it across the room and shouted into his empty living room when the phone started ringing again.

"I'm not getting up, no."

But the ringing was making him want to stick his hand in a blender.

Throwing himself into a sitting position, he stretched his body across the sofa with a whimper from how much pain his body was in and picked up the phone with the most pathetic; "What do you want from me?"

" _Hello, Brian. I told you to put that bottle away_."

Brian winced and looked around the room. "Who the fuck is this?"

A laugh over the line made him even more confused. " _I'll give you three guesses but you're no psychic-_ "

"Oh my god."

Another laugh, and Brian shot off of the sofa with a hand going to his mouth. "Oh my god, last night."

" _How much did you drink last night, bud? We still on for that date?_ "

Brian moaned and groaned for a few seconds, the phone away from his face. "I am so fucking sorry, I wouldn't have ever called you if I was sober. Oh my god, I'm such a moron."

" _It was cute, I've never had someone call me and ask me out. You sounded just about ready to shit yourself when I started to read you."_

He could hardly believe himself. "I am so sorry, Roger. I don't know what I was thinking."

Roger giggled. " _So, that date?_ "

Brian's brain blanked. "You- You still want to meet me...After that?"

" _Uh, fuck yes I do. You were the most fun I had all night. You were at least young, most of my callers are old women looking to talk to their dead cats. Wait, you're not old, right?_ "

"I'm twenty."

Roger sighed with relief. " _Thank god. I'm nineteen._ "

"They let a teenager have a television show?"

The psychic huffed, obviously having heard that multiple times. " _I'm almost twenty. Your age. I'm not a kid._ "

Brian sputtered. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that. I just didn't know you were that young, I would have said you were at least twenty-two."

Prideful, his smile could be heard through his voice; " _Oh, well thanks. I get that a lot. Anyways, what do you look like, Mr.I Call Psychic Hotlines And Say The Psychic Is Sexy?_ "

"I can't even think right now, I feel like I was hit with a truck. I have, uh, curly hair. I'm tall-"

" _Oof, how tall?_ "

Confused; "What?"

" _How tall are you, Brian?_ "

"Six two?"

Roger sighed dreamily. " _I could climb you like a tree._ "

His hangover was suddenly the last thing on his mind and his entire body went a bright red. "That- Oh, uh," He laughed. "Thanks?"

The psychic hummed happily. " _You're so very welcome, Brian._ "

He really liked how he said his name. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself because he hadn't even met the guy, never less seen him in person even once.

"So, I guess I could give you my address and we could have dinner here," Brian explained, pacing as he spoke. "Unless you've psychically figured out my whereabouts."

Roger scoffed. " _Uh, no thanks."_

Brian paused. "No thanks?"

" _I don't even know what you look like. How do I know you're not a fifty-year-old serial killer? How about you send me a photo of yourself?_ "

The brunette, obviously not expecting that really, stuttered for a second. "Okay, I'll send you a picture."

He looked like absolute shit at that very moment, but he took the best photo of himself that he could given his current state. Roger was silent for a few moments, but then he said; ' _ah_ '

"Is that bad?" Roger took his sweet time replying and it put him on edge. "I'm so hungover my brain hurts, I know I look like-"

" _You're hot._ "

"You're so blunt, Roger."

" _Well, you are. Damn. You look like that and you're tall. I can't wait to see how you look when you're not hungover."_

Brian wasn't really sure how to react to this bluntness, but he liked whatever this was. "So, you want to meet somewhere? I don't really have a car but I can get a taxi."

" _Yeah, you can come over to my place. I'll pick you up._ "

"You live alone?"

Roger hesitated. " _Yep. I live alone in a big fancy mansion._ " Brian laughed, and the psychic sounded confused. " _I'm not kidding, I'm loaded._ "

He certainly did not believe that. "No offence but there's no way being a psychic pay that well."

" _Well, I guess you'll have to come over and see._ "

Brian squinted at the wall and crossed his free arm over his chest. "How do I know you're not a serial killer?"

Roger, who was full of quips, shrugged. " _I guess you'll have to take that risk._ "

"I guess I will."

" _Mkay, I'm gonna go take a nap and eat a sandwich. I'll see you tonight at eight._ " Roger was smiling again and before Brian could even think to reply, the phone was hung up.


End file.
